


Shifting Sands

by DSBJellyDonuts



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: (Even though for some reason it still shows up as standalone), Canon Divergent, F/M, Fake Marriage, Plot Bunnies - Freeform, Post-1x16, changing timelines, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSBJellyDonuts/pseuds/DSBJellyDonuts
Summary: Every jump brings the possibility of returning to a changed timeline for Lucy & Wyatt - they know that, have known it from the beginning.  But they never counted on having that possibility weaponized against them - again and again and again.  When it is, in ways that are both calculated and deeply personal, it's all they can do to stay afloat.





	Shifting Sands

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t intend to write this. But plot bunnies, man…  
> (This takes place somewhere vaguely post-1x16.)

_What would happen if history could be rewritten as casually as erasing a blackboard?  Our past would be like the shifting sands at the seashore, constantly blown this way or that by the slightest breeze. History would be constantly changing every time someone spun the dial of a time machine and blundered his or her way into the past.  History, as we know it, would be impossible.  It would cease to exist.  -Michio Kaku_

* * *

_Time seems to me a drift, a shifting of sand.  And my mind is shifting with it.  I am wearing away.  -E.L. Doctorow_

* * *

Beep.  
  
Beep.  
  
Beep.  
  
The monotonous ‘beep’ of the grocery scanner threatened to drive Lucy out of her mind - or hypnotize her to sleep - she wasn't sure which.  After her hellacious trip to the 1600s, courtesy of Emma’s attempts to derail the Mayflower Compact, Lucy literally wanted only three things: a glass of wine, a shower, and some sleep.  The unmotivated cashier was the only thing standing in the way of her making headway on her list.  Not for the first time, she cursed the restrictions on alcohol in the self-checkout line.  
  
Finally, the family in front of her had completed their transaction, painstakingly loading $150 worth of groceries into the cart, and left the teen cashier to turn his attention to her order.  TV dinner, chocolate bar, bottle of wine.  She bit back the ‘don't judge’ that wanted to leap out in response to the young cashier’s incredibly judgmental look.  Her annoyance was replaced by gratitude a few moments later, though, when he asked to see her ID.  
  
Well, that was flattering, at least.  
  
She caught a flash of the license as she flipped it around to face him, just enough to notice that it didn't look quite right.  Maybe it was the new design Jiya had been talking about?  She wasn’t sure what the jump would have done to cause her to renew her license early, but in the grand scheme of things, a new license was hardly a hiccup in the reality of her crazy life.  Before she could contemplate further, the cashier announced her total, calling her attention back to the transaction.  She tucked the license back into her wallet and pulled out her credit card, completing her transaction and bidding goodbye to the sullen cashier.  
  
As she walked to her car, the license situation started chewing at her again.  They had, she supposed, experienced fairly significant changes in ways they wouldn’t have expected on occasion.  _Like Amy._   So once she dropped into the drivers seat, she tossed the bottle of wine on the seat next to her and set her purse on her lap.  Tugging the license out of its slot, she squinted at it again.  Her photo, yep, her name —  
  
Oh, but no.  That _wasn't_ her name.  
  
Lucy _Logan_?!  
  
Her heart stopped.  And the only thing she could think was, _ohhhh shit_.  So much _oh shit_ it wasn’t even funny.  
  
Regaining her composure, she returned to the license.  The address was different too; not her mother’s, not anywhere she'd ever lived.    
  
No sooner did the thought escape her mind than her phone rang, lighting up with Wyatt’s name.  _Of course._  
  
“Hey,” she answered, trying to sound blasé, like she hadn't just found _his_ name on _her_ license.  Like she wasn't on the verge of a panic attack.  
  
“Hey, Lucy?” he asked, sounding troubled.  _Not good._   “I think we may have done something, um, on our last mission.  I just got to my apartment and… it's not mine.  Key doesn't fit.  Very tall, very muscular, very angry new tenant didn't appreciate my attempt, either.”  
  
Her stomach sunk.  “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, didn't come to blows or anything.”  
  
She nodded, relieved he hadn't gotten clobbered.  Glancing at the license in her hand, she had a thought.  “What address is on your license?”  
  
He rattled it off, the words matching the license in her hands precisely - right down to the ‘apartment 2B’.  She sighed.  “I'll meet you there in ten minutes.”  
  
“You don't have to—”  
  
“I kinda do.  I'll explain when I get there.”  
  
She beat him across town, pulling into one of the spots marked for 2B.  Walking upstairs, she jingled the keys in her hand, trying to suss out which would open the door.  On the third try, the key slid in.  As she turned it, Wyatt’s voice sounded behind her and she jumped.  
  
“Why are you breaking into my apartment?” he asked, sounding bewildered.  
  
She swung the door open.  “Because apparently it's my apartment too.”  
  
She wandered inside, Wyatt trailing behind, and she could feel the puzzlement radiating off of him.  She headed ten steps forward, passing the kitchen on her right, stopping in front of the dining room.  She plopped her purse - and the bag containing her all-but-forgotten pathetic dinner - onto the table, tugging out her wallet.  Pulling out her license, she handed it to Wyatt.  
  
He took the license, confusion still marring his features, and she bit her lip as she watched him process the information he found on the tiny plastic card.  She knew the moment he saw it, her name mixed with his, his eyes widening instantly - absorbing the implications even as he skimmed the address.  His wide eyes met hers, his expression not clearing.  “Lucy, I —-”    
  
He trailed off, seemingly unsure what to even say.  “Yeah,” she replied, a confirmation that she understood, even if both lacked the words to express what they were feeling.  Regret and apologies for the stagnation that had come after her mother's betrayal, the vague promise of possibilities buried under the rubble of everything else in Lucy’s life tumbling down.  The awkwardness of being thrust into a shared living environment, the whisper that some alternate version of them had somehow found a way despite the complications of their crazy life.  And the flicker of hope, the notion that those long-dormant possibilities might yet be able to blossom.  
  
It was that last one that Lucy found herself tamping down, refusing to acknowledge, as Wyatt handed the license back and stepped further into the apartment.  She knew he was with her on the first two; knew him well enough that the first would threaten to swallow him alive.  The third?  That might be her own cross to bear, that dangerous ember of hope that there were any possibilities left for them more than six months after that conversation.  
  
But if they'd married in another time line, there must have been, somewhere, somehow?  
  
It was her turn to trail Wyatt as he surveyed the apartment; half for curiosity, half for security, she was sure.  Yet his fingerprints were on everything - the sturdy locks on the windows, the alarm panel mounted by the front door.  Which, curiously, hadn't sounded when they entered.  
  
She hadn't realized she was staring at it in confusion until his gaze followed hers.  “Probably only arm it when we’re here.  Wouldn't want to have to explain where we’d gone if there was a break-in while we’re in 1824 or something.  Doubt I'd be worried about our stuff, just your safety.”  
  
She grunted a reply and watched the rest of his slow circle around the living room before he headed to the hallway.  The decor was interesting; more thought put into it than she would have expected from Wyatt alone but not nearly the environment she would have expected her to set up herself.  Less homey, more sterile.  Perhaps the byproduct of government housing?  
  
Another glaring omission?  The lack of wedding pictures.  Or photos at all, really; one small snapshot hung amongst the takeout menus posted on the fridge - her with Rufus, Jiya, and Wyatt, arms slung loosely around each others’ shoulders, taken in a rare moment of calm.  She was hard pressed to imagine a world in which she wouldn't have had at least a few wedding shots up, but yet, there were none.  Maybe the marriage was recent - maybe the pictures weren't back from the photographer yet?  
  
Wyatt had wandered down the hall now, and as she followed she found two small bedrooms, a Jack and Jill bathroom splayed in between.  To the left was the master; a thick text on one bedside table, the other spartan, just an alarm clock and a glass of water.  There was a closet off to the left and she could see Wyatt’s shirts hanging neatly in a row.  She didn't have time to check it out any more fully as Wyatt continued through the bathroom to the second bedroom.  Following behind, she couldn't help but draw in a breath - her things and his sitting mingled together across the counter, toothbrushes and tubes of toothpaste and shaving supplies and hair products and and —-  
  
Deep breath, Lucy.  Panic won't do any good.  
  
Somehow, that bathroom counter had done more to cement the reality of the situation than even the shared name or address had done.  It was just a little too much, their things so effortlessly tossed together on the counter.    
  
She realized suddenly that she'd been clutching the edge of that counter, white-knuckled.  It hadn't gone unnoticed by Wyatt, either, who shot her a concerned look.  “You okay?”  
  
She shook her head, suddenly unable to find words.  What had they _done_ , four centuries in the past, to cause this?!    
  
Wyatt reached out to grab her by the shoulders, guiding her gently into the second bedroom and perching her on the edge of the bed.  “Deep breath,” he said soothingly.  “In and out, nice and slow.”  
  
She complied, the action helping to quell the panic.  At least somewhat; although she appreciated Wyatt’s efforts at calming her by keeping a firm grasp on her shoulders, his proximity wasn't helping much.  _Dammit._   This was the last thing she needed, just when she'd finally managed to pack away the last of her romantic fantasies and convince herself that whatever _possibilities_ he’d mentioned six months ago had been firmly yanked off the table.  
  
“I'm good,” she said, pulling back out of his grasp, and he relented.  If she missed the warmth of his touch as he stepped back to find a perch on the  overstuffed chair just behind him, she refused to acknowledge it.  With the crisis over - or at least deferred - she glanced around what she presumed was the guest room.  Queen bed, hastily made judging by the rumples in the comforter - _don't even go there, Lucy_ \- and a desk piled high with historical references.  Judging from the additional stack of books on the nightstand, she must work over here, across the hall from the bedroom, probably remaining buried in her books later than he wanted to be kept up.  This room - office-slash-guest room? - looked as well-used as the others in the apartment, making the move to a two-bedroom make ever so much more sense.  
  
“You'd think a history professor lived here,” Wyatt said teasingly, gesturing to the stacks she'd already noticed and glancing at the half-full bookshelf behind him.  
  
“At least it solves the sleeping arrangements,” she replied.  “You can take the master, I’ll stay in here.”  His brow furrowed - as if he was going to object - and so she continued on.  “Looks like everything I need’s already in this room.  Even pajamas,” she noted, gesturing to the pair of sweats tossed haphazardly on the back of the chair he was sitting on.  
  
He frowned, but didn't object further.  “I — okay,” he replied.  “I guess I'll just…”  He gestured towards the door - towards the bedroom across the hall - and she nodded.  
  
“Okay,” she replied.  
  
He stood but lingered, as if he could sense she wanted to add something more.  And she did - lots more, honestly - but she opted to start with the practical.  
  
“Think I’m gonna grab some dinner before I turn in.  I'm kind of starving, actually.  Haven't eaten since that gruel in the tavern, when was that?”  
  
“Four hundred years ago?” he replied, and she was relieved to feel the awkwardness dissolve, the comfortable teasing lilt returning to his voice.  
  
“I was thinking breakfast a solid day ago, but yeah, that too,” she replied with a chuckle.  “I, uh, only got one frozen meal, but we could split it if you want?”  
  
He chuckled.  “No way, Lucy.  There’s gotta be some real food in this apartment - no _way_ I’d let you subsist on frozen dinners if we were married.”  
  
And there it was, the elephant in the room, tossed out as casually as that.  She felt her cheeks burn crimson, but despite her better nature, couldn't help but toss the thread back at him.  “Well apparently we are, so — you got something better in mind?”  
  
“I'll find something,” he replied, taking the left out of the guest room - her room? - and heading back into the kitchen.  He opened the cabinets, freezer, and fridge in succession, grabbing ingredients as he went.  By the time Lucy managed to settle herself on one of the high chairs at the island, he'd assembled a pile on the counter, swapped the wine she'd bought for a chilled bottle from the fridge, and tossed her frozen dinner into the freezer.  
  
“I never knew you were a master chef,” she teased.  He shrugged, reaching into yet another cabinet to grab a wine glass.  
  
“Can't live off takeout forever,” he replied, opening and closing drawers until he found a corkscrew.  “Pasta primavera okay?  There's some shrimp in here too,” he continued, uncorking the wine.  
  
“Anything's gotta be better than Hungry Man Salisbury Steak,” she replied with a grin.  
  
“Won't take much to win that contest,” he replied, sliding a glass of wine in front of her and matching her grin with one of his own before beginning a search through the cabinets under the island, presumably looking for a pot or pan.  
  
Lifting her wine glass, Lucy let out a noise of agreement.  Wyatt resurfaced moments later, a pan in one hand and a pot in the other.  Tossing the pan onto the stove, he filled the pot at the sink, the sound of the running water filling the companionable silence left between them.  This was going to do her in, she was sure of it - they'd been together in this apartment for less than half an hour and she could already feel herself heading down the dangerous road of wondering how it would be if all of this were real.  Coming home to Wyatt, to an actual dinner instead of sodium-laden microwave disasters - she fought to tamp down the longing brought on by the domesticity of the situation.  Instead she tried to focus on the strangeness of things, of suddenly finding herself married to someone who was by all rights “just” a coworker.  
  
“This is weird, right?” she asked, trying to suss out his feelings on the subject.  “Not bad weird, just…”  
  
“No, not bad weird,” he replied,  turning to catching her with a smile that had her heart in her throat.  They locked eyes, instantaneously dismantling any progress she'd made in ignoring her feelings.  She tried to read his expression, but she couldn't come up with anything other than a mirror for her own feelings - wishful thinking, she was sure.  The moment was interrupted by a sizzle from the stove, and Wyatt's smile turned cheeky as he swung back around.  “Bad weird would be showing up to find out I was married to Rufus.”  
  
She couldn't help but burst out laughing at that.  “Yeah, I guess this is _slightly_ less awkward than that.”  
  
Before she knew it, he'd chopped vegetables, tossed pasta into the pot of boiling water, and started sautéing the shrimp.  She sat entranced, watching in awe as he bustled about the kitchen with an ease she'd never managed to possess, somehow instinctively knowing the measurements and timing to make each step come together flawlessly.  Another few minutes and he was grabbing plates out of the cabinet and dishing out his creation.  He rounded the island with two plates, dropping one in front of her and a second at the chair next to her, before moving back into the kitchen long enough to grab a pair of forks from a drawer and a beer from the fridge.  
  
Finally he sat down.  She tried to ignore the fact that he chose the seat right next to her instead of either of the other open spots, working to convince herself that it was immaterial to their situation.  Instead she turned her attention to the plate in front of her, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before digging in.  She corralled a forkful of the dish, trying her best to ignore the unnerving feeling of Wyatt watching her out of the corner of his eye.  “Holy crap, Wyatt, this is amazing.  Why haven't you cooked for me before?”  
  
He shrugged shyly, and she swore she could see a faint blush creep onto his cheeks.  “Guess the opportunity never presented itself.”  
  
“Well if this is a taste of what married life is like, I'm not sure I ever want to go back,” she said, kicking herself the moment it flew out of her mouth.  Too much - too _true_ \- but a glance at Wyatt showed that he didn't take it that way.  
  
“I guess that's a good thing, because I'm not sure we can.  I have no idea what the hell Emma did back there to cause this.  We can talk to Agent Christopher tomorrow, but…”  
  
“But she probably only knows of the us who lived in this timeline,” she finished for him.  “So we might be stuck like this for a while.”  
  
She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye.  He didn't look upset by the prospect, which honestly surprised her - she would have expected him to flip out at finding himself married to anyone who wasn't Jessica.  
  
Their conversation turned to plans to visit Mason the next day.  Those further faded into companionable chatter; logistics of a shower schedule and breakfast times and further into meaningless small talk.    
  
After sharing a laugh at the idea of returning to a world where waffles had never been invented, Lucy let out a yawn - thankfully _before_ scooping the last bite of pasta into her mouth.  That was the last thing she needed, to thoroughly embarrass herself on night one of this new… situation.  As soon as she'd done so, Wyatt scooped her plate from in front of her as he stood, dropped a kiss on her head, and shooed her off to bed.  
  
She found herself padding obediently down the hall.  She'd planned to insist on doing the dishes, but somehow the protest fell silent on her lips as she found herself stunned by his actions.   What. Was. That?  She shut herself into the bedroom she'd claimed as her own before sinking down onto the bed.  
  
She'd never survive this reality if he was going to be like that - sweet and effortlessly affectionate.  It was like somehow the concept of being married had flipped a switch in Wyatt, suddenly assuming a caretaker role as if it was their norm, as if he'd always done it.  And in a way he had, but not like this.  She thought she knew the guy pretty well after fighting alongside him for nearly two years, but this was a whole new side to him - and it might be her undoing.  
  
It hadn't been nearly the shock it probably should have been to land in this reality, she thought, as she headed into the bathroom to wash up before bed.  She'd long since accepted that she had unrequited feelings that went far beyond a crush, so it wasn't hard to believe that she would have jumped headlong into a relationship if he'd given any inclination that he reciprocated.  And judging from the evidence all around her - like the his and hers sinks that had been the cause of her earlier meltdown - that must have been what happened in this timeline.  
  
But that wasn't her Wyatt.  
  
_Her_ Wyatt had done a 180 after her Mom had revealed herself to be Rittenhouse, showing up to collect her after she called him in hiccoughing sobs and helping to settle her into the extended-stay hotel Agent Christopher had arranged, deeming it safe enough for her.  He'd remained a steady, steadfast friend - but nothing more.  The tiny thread he’d extended had been yanked back, even amidst their deepening friendship, and Lucy found herself surprised at her willingness to settle for his presence however she could get it.  She was ashamed to realize that she was marginally less upset that they hadn't eradicated Rittenhouse the moment that she realized it meant she'd still be able to be around him.  
  
She took solace in the fact that he didn't seem too bothered, either.  Especially in contrast to Rufus, whose meltdown had rivaled Lucy's when he learned that their fight was far from over.  But Wyatt?  He took it in stride.  And she could have put it off to his Wyattness - just another day at the office - if they hadn't literally just talked about him not wanting to say goodbye.  
  
(It seemed to her that there may have been an easier way to keep in contact than by continuing to chase time traveling terrorists, but who was she to judge?)  
  
Come to think of it, he hadn't seemed terribly bothered this evening, either.  She ran back through the evening as she brushed her teeth, and aside from the moment in which she'd shown him her license, he'd been utterly nonplussed.  
  
Which had to mean something, didn't it?  
  
Once upon a time she was certain he would have flipped out at the notion of being married to anyone who wasn't Jessica.  But now he'd just shrugged it off, like it was completely normal to suddenly find yourself married to someone you weren't even dating.  And then he'd been unrelentingly sweet, which brought her back to the conundrum at hand.  
  
As she tucked herself into the comfy bed, she mulled over the strange circumstances of her day.  She'd had worse days, she supposed - like the day she discovered her mother was the enemy, or the day her sister stopped existing - but today was definitely one of the strangest.  But turning up married to Wyatt?  While it may have been one of the strangest, she just couldn't bring herself to categorize it as one of the worst.

* * *

Lucy had finally managed to drift into a restful slumber when she was awoken by a noise in the hall.  It took her a moment to get her bearings and remember the timeline shift, and a moment more to attribute the noise to Wyatt, probably up to get a drink or something.  But that illusion was shattered thirty seconds later when she heard a voice yell, “Dammit Logan, you have GOT to stop pulling that gun on me.  You're supposed to protect me, not take me out yourself!”  
  
She'd know that voice anywhere.  _Amy._  
  
But before she could even spring out of bed, Amy was there, slamming the bedroom door behind her, a shell-shocked Wyatt’s face ever so briefly visible behind her.  Lucy could only blink at her in stunned silence.  She blew into the room like a hurricane - like _Amy_.  Seeing a shocked Lucy sprawled all across the bed, Amy rolled her eyes.  “Geez sis, you know I don't mind you sleeping over here instead of with your _husband_ ,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “but you gotta leave me half of the bed, ok?” she said.  Lucy stared back at her, bewildered.  However, before she could get a word out edgewise, Amy continued.  “And you've gotta get him to stop drawing his gun on me every time I get home late, okay?  I know he's trained to react but geez - one of these times it's gonna be black belt versus firearm and that's not gonna end well.”  
  
“He - he - I… _Amy_?!”  
  
Amy stopped in her tracks, one arm out of her shirt, jeans at her knees.  Immediately her expression changed.  “Aw, shit.  The timeline changed again, didn't it?”  
  
Lucy nodded lamely.  Then, realization dawning, she squinted at Amy.  “You _know_ about that?”  
  
Amy snorted, kicking her jeans vaguely in the direction of the hamper.  “Kind of had to fill me in when they wanted to put me in protective custody.  What changed this time?”  
  
“Uh well… Wyatt and I are apparently…”  She gestured vaguely towards his room.  “And you're here…”  
  
“Lucy?” Wyatt’s muffled voice sounded through the doorway.  “Everything okay in there?”  
  
“Yeah, it's —-” She hopped up, opening the door a crack, mindful of her bedclothes and Amy’s state of half undress.  “It's _Amy_!”  
  
“Your sister?” he asked, clarifying, joy spreading over his face as she nodded.  “That's amazing.”  A beat and then, “I'll leave the two of you alone, um - you can tell me everything in the morning.”  
  
She nodded again, practically speechless, barely able to echo his “Night, Lucy” with a “Night” of her own.  She turned back to her sister, shutting the door behind her.  
  
She found Amy still standing in the middle of the room, a sleep shirt pulled halfway over her head.  From inside the shirt, her muffled voice sounded - “Did I not live with you guys?”  Her head popped out, eyes growing wide.  “Wait, was Mom not - was she part of, uh, everything in your timeline?”  
  
“Oh no, she definitely was,” Lucy replied, walking towards her sister.  “But the timeline shifts meant you weren't here.  You'd just… never existed, Amy.  For anyone but me.”  
  
Amy snorted.  “Pretty sure I've always existed, Luce.”  
  
Lucy looked back at her, eyes wide and brimming with tears.  She shook her head, and Amy stared back at her, finally seeming to understand the enormity of the situation.  “Shit, Lucy,” she said, sinking onto the bed.  “I really didn't exist in your timeline?”  
  
Lucy shook her head again.  “You disappeared after our first mission.”  She paused, then leaned over and threw her arms around Amy.  “I've missed you _so_ much.”  
  
“I—-I’m sorry?” Amy replied, returning the hug.  
  
“‘Snot your fault,” Lucy replied, her voice muffled in her sister’s shoulder.  She pulled back, moving to perch on the edge of the bed next to Amy.  “Our very first jump - I guess someone survived who shouldn't have, and one of their descendants married Dad.  So, no you.”  
  
“Oh,” Amy said softly.  “But because you had a different biological father…”  
  
_So Amy knew about that._   “Yeah.”  
  
“And I'm back now because…”  
  
Lucy shrugged.  “No idea.  We were in the 1600s - guess we did something that changed just enough…” She paused, musing for a second.  “But honestly, I don't care.  I had a deal with Agent Christoper to get you back when all of this was over - my condition for staying on the project.  Guess I won't be needing that now.”    
  
Slipping an arm around her sister’s shoulder again, she pulled her close.  “I'm _so_ glad you're back.”  
  
“And to think, here it was just another boring Tuesday night.”  Amy shook her head.  “I'm not sure I'll ever get used to this timeline nonsense… you guys coming home from work with different memories and whatnot.”  
  
Lucy squinted at her.  “Have I come back from a different timeline before?”  
  
Amy nodded.  “Twice actually.  But they were little changes - things like finding you looking for leftovers from takeout we’d never ordered.  Not stuff like this.”  
  
Lucy snorted.  “I'm surprised I was allowed to eat takeout leftovers.”  
  
“What?”  
  
She shook her head, suddenly feeling a bit silly saying anything about it.  “Wyatt, he - there was a whole thing about not letting me subsist on TV dinners—-”  
  
Amy grinned.  “Takeout’s for when he's out of town.  Also, in this timeline - the two of you?”  She glanced meaningfully from Lucy towards the room where Wyatt slept, then frowned.  “Guessing not so much, since he's sleeping across the hall.”  
  
Lucy shrugged.  She didn't even know how to begin to describe their dance of not-something-but-not-nothing.  She knew how she felt, but well - it had been over six months since _possibilities_ and there'd been a whole lot of nothing.  
  
Reading her silence, Amy huffed in annoyance.  “What is _wrong_ with the two of you?  You seriously can't get your shit together in any timeline?”  She shook her head.  “Just absurd, seeing how the two of you are positively _wild_ about each other!”  
  
Lucy felt the color rising to her cheeks.  “I don't think he's—”  
  
Amy pinned her with a look.  “Really, sis?  I wish you could see how he looks at you.  Always.  Watches you move around the apartment, stares when he thinks you're not looking.  The boy is _gone_.”  She shook her head again.  “But just like the you in my timeline didn't see his willingness to _marry_ you as anything other than an act of responsibility, I'm going to guess you are _also_ plagued with self-doubt.  So I'll tell you what I told - well, other you: normally I'd tell you no guy is worth all of what you're putting yourself through.  But I've had a front row seat to the two of you for months now and Lucy… somebody’s just gotta rip off the band aid.”  
  
Lucy rolled her eyes.  It sure wasn't gonna be her.  Then something from Amy’s speech jumped out at her - “Wait, what do you mean marrying me was an act of responsibility.  Responsible for _what_?”  
  
“Your safety - what else?  After everything went down with Mom, we were crashing at some shoddy extended-stay place… some Rittenhouse goons broke in one night and scared the shit out of everybody.  Nothing Agent Christopher proposed after that was good enough for Wyatt, so finally somebody pitched the idea of putting us all in the same apartment so he could be your personal security.  Great plan, but apparently the Army frowns upon shacking up together?  And they pay for his housing, so…” Amy shrugged, as if this all made perfect sense.  “Rufus said nobody would ever believe you two were just platonically living together - because duh - and so given the options of leaving you out of his sight or getting court marshaled, marriage seemed like the best solution.”  
  
Lucy gaped, but Amy continued.  
  
“So, yeah. Forgive me when I don't buy that there's nothing between the two of you.  Just waiting for the two of you to come around to what the rest of us have already figured out.”  Amy paused, and then a shit-eating grin overtook her face.  “And then maybe I’ll finally get a decent night’s sleep without having to shove you back over onto your side.”  
  
“Amy!”  Lucy grew beet red at her insinuation.  
  
Amy shrugged.  “C’mon, there's gotta be some kind of perk in all of this for me - besides eating Wyatt’s leftovers.  What over the top dinner did he try to impress you with tonight?”  
  
Lucy blinked at her.  “What?”  
  
“Dinner.  Oh - please tell me this timeline’s Wyatt still cooks?”  
  
Lucy tried to ignore how disconcerting it was that her sister seemed to know some aspects of Wyatt better than she did.  Apparently the cooking thing was a regular occurrence?  “Yeah, he made dinner.  I'd bought a TV dinner, but—-”  
  
Amy snorted.  “I bet that went over well.”  A pause and then, “I’m not sure which is sweeter, the fact that he cooks for you every damn night or the fact that you seem oblivious to the fact that it's a romantic gesture.  You two are a _mess_ , Luce.”  
  
Lucy bristled.  “It’s dinner… doesn't have to be romantic.”  
  
“It's over the top… and its _every_ night.  Lucy, you're a grown-ass adult, why should he even care what you eat?”  
  
“I'm sure it's probably just convenience, one kitchen, three people…”  
  
“Sure, but he doesn't seem the least bit concerned with making my favorite dishes.  Or even notice when I'm gone at dinner time.  When you're not here?  He damn well notices.”  
  
Lucy frowned.  She hadn't read too much into Wyatt's insistence that he'd make dinner - it was a sweet gesture to take the sting out of a crappy day.  But from what Amy was saying, this sounded like a regular occurrence… and a frightening dose of realism in their apparently fake marriage.  She wasn't quite sure she was equipped to process what any of it meant right know.  
  
“Y'know what, Ames… I don't even care about that right now.  Can we just focus on the fact that you're here, that I've got you back?  It's been a year and a half since the last time I saw you and I…”  She took a moment to look at her sister, examine her, to tell herself it was really real, not just a dream.  Tearing up, she continued, voice dropping to a whisper.  “I’d started to lose hope that I’d ever see you again.”  
  
“Well, I'm glad that I was able to renew your hope in the randomness of time travel.  The Lifeboat giveth, the Lifeboat taketh away, am I right?”  Amy laughed.  “But listen, Lucy, I know you’re agog that I exist and everything, but I’m beat.  I'm here, I promise I am, but I'm gonna crawl into bed now.  You can tell me all about your timeline, or watch me creepily while I sleep, or whatever, I don't care.  Okay?”    
  
Amy paused, studying her sister, then opened her arms.  Lucy gladly leaned in, reveling in Amy’s warmth as she listened to her continue on.  “I _am_ sorry you've had to go through all of this without me.  I know how hard it's been for you.  I’d be devastated if you stopped existing… I can't even imagine losing me on top of everything with Mom.  But I'm here now, okay?  And my day tomorrow is all yours, we can do whatever you want.”  
  
“Okay,” Lucy conceded, slipping back out of Amy’s embrace.  “I promise to try to not be so smothering.”  
  
Amy shrugged.  “Smother away.  Just… from enough distance that I can get a good night’s sleep.”

* * *

The sound of a shower woke Lucy, long before she really wanted to be awake.  It took her a moment to orient herself to the strange setting.  But then she processed the prior night's events.  Amy was sleeping peacefully beside her - _Amy_! - which meant the noise from the bathroom must be Wyatt.  
  
Wyatt.  In the shower.  No - _no_ she did not need to go down that road.  Fake marriage.  Fake.  Basically roommates.  
  
(But Wyatt was in the shower like fifteen feet away from the bed she was curled up in, and that was going to take some practice to ignore.)  
  
She rolled over to face Amy, willing herself to focus on the fact that her sister was alive.  She’d wracked her brain as she'd fallen asleep, but still had no idea what they'd done on their last jump to cause this.  Still, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth - whatever it was, she was so incredibly grateful.  She gingerly picked up a strand of Amy’s hair, hoping not to wake her; rubbing it between her fingers, the tactile connection serving to remind herself she was really _here_.  
  
She drifted back off until she was awoken again by the thunk of the shower shutting off.  Wyatt would be out soon - maybe she'd head out to the kitchen and grab some breakfast.  Amy would sleep like the dead ‘til noon, anyways.  
  
She grabbed her robe and padded out into the kitchen, tying the sash tightly around her waist as she went.  She filled the coffeemaker with water, and had just begun a search through the cabinets for coffee when she heard Wyatt pad into the kitchen.  
  
“Check the next cabinet to the right.  Think I saw it there last night.”  A pause and then, “I can get it if you want?”  
  
“It's fine, I got it,” she replied, opening the cabinet in question.  She measured enough out enough scoops for the pot, and then hesitated, glancing over her shoulder.  “Strong okay?”  
  
He grinned at her.  “The stronger the better.”  
  
She tossed an extra scoop in before turning the machine on and stowing the coffee in the cabinet before going on a search for mugs.  Wyatt, in the meantime, had settled himself at the kitchen island.  She hadn't noticed until she turned to pull the cream out of the fridge and found him unnervingly watching her.  “What?”  
  
“Nothing,” he replied, the grin still plastered on his face.  “Just thinking it's kinda nice to have company in the morning.”  
  
She was thankful to have the fridge to duck into to hide the wide-eyed expression she was sure she had on her face.  As if the situation itself wasn't unnerving enough, Wyatt kept making comments like that and she didn't know what to do with them.  She was trying her best not to read into anything, but she certainly hadn't been helped any by Amy in that regard.  
  
Amy!  
  
“So you met my sister last night,” she said, setting the creamer on the counter, bumping the fridge closed with her hip and hoping he wouldn't draw attention to the abrupt change in subject.    
  
“Uh, yeah,” he said, letting out an uncomfortable laugh.  “Of all of the ways I thought I might meet the famous Amy, pulling a gun on her in the middle of the night never even made the list.”  
  
Lucy cracked a smile.  “From the way she talked, I’m pretty sure it's not the first time.”  She paused, feeling her grin grow wider.  “I don't know how or why, but she's _back_ , Wyatt!”  
  
“I'm so happy for you, Lucy,” he replied.    
  
“You'll have to meet her for real today.  She'll be up later.  Oh, and uh — she knows about everything.”  
  
His eyebrows shot up.  “ _Everything_?”  
  
“I guess when things went down with my mom, they pulled her out too, put us up together.  Had to tell her so she'd go.”  
  
“Ah.  And she moved in here with us because…?”  
  
She grinned, moving to fill the mugs she'd pulled out earlier with the now-brewed coffee.  “Other way around.  We moved in with you after some goons broke into wherever it was that Amy & I had been staying so you could be 24/7 security.  And apparently you could get court marshaled if they thought we were shacking up, so we got fake-married instead.”  She eliminated Amy’s commentary from the recap… no reason to pile uncomfortable onto the awkward they were already living.  
  
Wyatt’s face fell.  “Oh.”  
  
She blinked; she could swear he almost seemed… disappointed?  He was disappointed that they weren't really married?  
  
Well, that made two of them.  
  
She flashed him a fake smile, hoping she could sell an ease and confidence she didn't really possess.  “Everybody on the team knows.  So we don't have to pretend around them.”  She paused, handing one of the mugs across the counter to him.  Catching his gaze, she continued.  “We can do this, right?  I mean, this is weird, but we can do this.  This place is a ton better than those hotels I've been staying in… and Amy’s back.  Amy!  So it means we have to act when we’re in public?  Can't be any worse than it was with Bonnie & Clyde.”  
  
Wyatt looked back at her with a frown that didn't seem completely serious and a teasing glint in his eye.  “You say ‘can't get any worse’ like Bonnie & Clyde was awful!”  
  
“I…” Lucy felt a blush creeping up the sides of her neck, warming her cheeks, until she wished the floor would just open up and swallow her whole.  It was the opposite of awful, of course - but she couldn't very well say that to Wyatt, now could she.  After staring back at him for entirely too long, she finally landed on, “No, not awful.”  
  
He looked entirely too pleased with himself.  Then, softly, he continued.  “Is it bad I'm a little disappointed this isn't real?”  
  
She blinked at him, her heart skipping about a dozen beats in her chest.  “I… you are?”  
  
He shrugged sheepishly.  “I don't know.  The idea that other-us were able to find some happiness in the middle of everything… it was just comforting.  Like maybe there was some hope for normalcy out of this madness yet.”  
  
Normalcy.  He wasn't sad about not being married to her, he just wanted a normal existence.  She swallowed.  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she lied.  
  
He reached across the counter and grabbed her hand.  “I couldn't do this without you, Luce.  I wouldn't want to.”  
  
She blinked back at him, the unfamiliar nickname only serving to heighten the depth of his statement.  “Me either.  I'd be lost without you.”  
  
“So maybe alternate me felt the same way.  Maybe… if the choices were to have you too close or gone forever, too close didn't seem like such a bad solution.”  He sighed, offering her a shrug.  “I dunno.  All I know is, it's not so bad.  I can think of a whole lot worse ways to end up than married to you.”  
  
She sent him a weak smile; not sure to take that as a compliment or as a line… or as a gentle let-down to her hopelessly unrequited feelings.  Being married to him is about the best possible way she could think to end up, if she were being totally honest; between that and Amy’s return, being dropped into this strange new reality didn't seem to be a bad thing at all.


End file.
